In my dream I can drive above the model of the Bay Area someone has built. When I do, I see the way that they have tucked little kaiju onto the roof of certain buildings.

In my dream the performance takes place in front of two overlapping screens, their black and white projections pulsing with grain. The young maenads move rhythmically along the waist high platform until the central performer plants the hunk of near raw lamb in front of them. I think that even the small bit of rehearsal has helped this, when they whirl on me.

In my dream the paste is yellow and chewy. It makes us happy to pass it back and forth. I’ve forgotten where my father is.

In my dream there is an antique game console in my hands. It has slots for two cartridges and combines the two inserted games into one when you play.

In my dream five flat entities are celebrating their birthday in front of the main entrance. They turn from side to side.

In my dream I accompany A as he goes to pick up things he need for his new installation. The wholesaler is showing him kylar letters and I can tell he’s beginning to freak out. I try to reassure him that even if he can’t afford the question mark he needs we can probably make one with some tape.

In my dream Dan Ackroyd is planning a run for mayor of San Francisco and his team has sent a letter to my friend the restaurant critic for the local paper warning her off of challenging him in the primary. The idea is absurd, but I say to her,”Doesn’t it make you want to run, though? We could get up there and say: Don’t vote for us! we look nothing like this city, and neither does Dan Ackroyd!”

In my dream a dispute is telescoped. Her face advances to the foreground while the sound thins.

In my dream the decaying face of a businessman advertises the series finale from every billboard in Herald Square. When a child stumbles in the middle of the crosswalk, only a couple of people turn to help.

In my dream I walk up to the desk where the NPR interview is setting up only to be waved off with a “Talk to mama in New York”. But I’m here, now, on time for my appointment.

In my dream there is smoke that makes us feel ready.

In my dream I slouch up the street while from behind me I hear a couple of guys singing a United Front song. They catch up at the corner of 96th street and we push a plywood cart across the intersection, underneath the El.

In my dream we are upstairs rehearsing Assassins. I’m playing Zangara and don’t have a gun so I snatch a hot glue gun from a table. I can tell we are supposed to be off book. I am not. I sidle over to try to peek at the prompter’s script but they say “no”.

In my dream the air is hard. I want to see it roll.

In my dream it is round and white like a couch and they won’t see it.

In my dream we head through the blocks of sponge. We check our bodies.

In my dream the bus turns down a narrow side street in LA and on the left I see it: a sprawling shop with a name painted on the wall: Blake’s Costume Creations. I push out of the bus and onto the curb so that I can photograph the giant heads plastered into the walls and shop for parts of my new piece.

In my dream I’m told that after we pull the heist we are going to have to disappear, which means that I have to go through the squat and gather up all of my stuff. I go out to buy rolling bins to pack it all in.

In my dream I jump into the pad of white concrete circles, exclaiming “Skateboard Life.”

In my dream the argument is smeared.